


Things in Chains

by Tridraconeus



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Pining, evan macmillan's caretaking kink, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: Like holding any wild thing, Evan has no delusions that he’ll be able to keep the saboteur forever.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	Things in Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeoOtherLands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Caught In A Trap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839659) by [LeoOtherLands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/pseuds/LeoOtherLands). 



> HI LEOOOOOOOO. please enjoy these idiots in love. navel-gazey fanfic of a fanfic inspired by my fanfic, how far can we go

Like holding any wild thing, Evan has no delusions that he’ll be able to keep the saboteur forever. Either the trials will begin again, or the saboteur will slip his collar and disappear into the Fog, or— most likely— his injury will heal to an acceptable degree and Evan will have no further pretense to keep him under lock and key. Evan’s only lucky (is he?) that the survivor’s own stubbornness and apathy and refusal to work the muscle and reintroduce his leg to weight when Evan isn’t there to goad him into it has stalled his recovery time. He’s no longer an invalid— oh, Evan knows he’d hiss and spit at being called an _invalid_ , but Evan has no sympathy for the hobbling wreck.

No sympathy at all.

The saboteur is asleep right now, pressed to his chest. He’s long since stopped crawling behind the vanity to avoid even looking at Evan, only to huddle at his back when the temperature drops. He comes willingly, now. Tucks himself in Evan’s arms and drops off to sleep without complaint.

Evan knows better than to assume he’s broken his spirit and brought him in line. He’s not _that_ foolish. Given the slightest slack, the saboteur will free himself and disappear.

Something hot and covetous opens up in him at the thought of his saboteur slipping the collar and _staying_ there on his bed, waiting for him to return and see the mess he’s made of Evan’s hard work once again, and he cools it with effort. He cannot afford to love a thing on a chain; he cannot afford to love the saboteur, chain or not.

Evan knows that a starving man who eats too quickly will throw up the very same food he needs so badly; it must be the same for his saboteur. He must be sick on touch. Sick on it and starved for it all at once. It reminds him of a dog that one of the miners had; a scruffy mutt that eagerly rolled over so Evan and the others could rub his belly, even after it got red and sore and the slightest touch made him growl and snap. When he’s asleep, the survivor can’t get enough of his warmth; when he wakes, he fusses and weeps in helpless rage and discomfort.

He’s always so upset when he wakes. Asleep now, his hips twitch against Evan’s leg and Evan feels the hardness under his cargo pants. Maybe, for a bit, Evan can alleviate his distress.

“Saboteur.”

It’s a gamble whether he’ll wake quickly-- eyes snapping open, immediately harsh and distrustful-- or try to stay within the cottony realms of sleep. Evan prefers the latter. Who is he thinking of, when he grips Evan’s waders tighter? Whose heartbeat does he miss? It _is_ the latter, this time, easing into still-drowsy realization, and this time he stays pliant and open instead of immediately squirming away.

The saboteur knows what’s expected of him; he squirms, sleepily gathers his thoughts and realizes he wants, opens his mouth to speak and breathes out harshly instead. Evan squeezes his thigh, but does not afford even the slightest brush to his length.

“Touch me,” the saboteur demands. He knows Evan won’t unless he’s asked. He knows what he’s going to get; Evan will take care of him with the same removed scrutiny he affords his traps, because that’s what this is, and Evan’s not going to push for more when the saboteur is chained to his bed.

He doesn’t try to turn away, this time. Maybe because they’re not actually having sex, not this early in the morning, and Evan isn’t particularly aroused himself, but it never takes long for him to follow after the saboteur. It’s strange-- should be, but isn’t-- to know the saboteur so intimately when he doesn’t even know his name. 

If he asks, he surely won’t be told. He has to satisfy himself with this. He pushes his hand down the saboteur’s pants and is rewarded immediately with thin thighs closing around his wrist to hold him there. Evan nearly smiles with how _demanding_ he is. He knows, by now, how easily the saboteur responds to his touch. He’d respond to any touch, though, with how long he’s been alone. Evan’s filling a need, is all. He works his cock until there’s hands on his arm, too, like all the strength in his much smaller body could keep Evan from pulling away if he wanted to. Minutes pass, hazy and distant with only the progression of hot breath against his shoulder, nails against his wrist, slick precum smearing his palm to mark time. 

The saboteur gasps softly, bucks into his palm, and a warm wetness proves that he’s come. His forehead presses against Evan’s forearm, faint huffing breaths that show in his back. Evan pulls his hand away and wipes it. Now that he’s surely awake, the saboteur will move away; he never tolerates Evan’s touch for longer than he has to, like it burns him. 

He rests his head there instead. Only morning, and he’s _already_ worn himself out. If he’s so easily tired out after such a small exertion, Evan feels justified in keeping him for a little longer. 

Just a little longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> haha gay. pls comment i need it to survive.


End file.
